


Better Together

by BloodEnvy



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Sex, Smut, Spooning, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 06:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19000183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodEnvy/pseuds/BloodEnvy
Summary: One night after too many drinks, Clint finds his way into your bed. And despite his embarrassment the next morning, it starts happening more and more often.





	Better Together

“Uh… Clint? You know that’s my bed, right?”

He gave you a long, drawn out groan by way of response, rolling over and snuggling further into your sheets. He took the blanket with him, dragging it over his shoulder as his face smushed into your favorite pillow. You sighed, rolling your eyes as you set the glass of water you’d just gone to get down on your bedside table. When he offered up no further conversation, you strode around to the other side of the bed, so you could see his face again.

You’d just played designated driver for a few of those currently staying at the new Avengers facility outside of New York. Sam had bribed you into taking them into the city and picking them back up again with Chinese food, so you’d picked up spring rolls and Kung Pao Chicken for you and Wanda. She was still adjusting to life stateside with the team, so the two of you opted for a quiet night on the couch rather than out on the town.

And while Natasha and Sam had been happy to make themselves comfortable and continue their conversation when you’d picked them up, Clint had insisted on leaning forward in his seat, his chin propped up on the back of your chair. He’d spent the ride home mumbling sleepily in your ear about in nothing in particular.

The archer had only arrived back in New York a couple of hours before Sam had convinced him to join them; he’d spent the last two weeks on a security detail for some foreign dignitary. Not the usual gig for an Avenger, but there’d been an assassination threat, and the infamous Hawkeye was the best there was for seeing things from a distance. It’d been confirmed to be a hoax, however, and he’d apparently felt the need to celebrate. Unfortunately, the jetlag had made the alcohol hit him just a little bit harder than it usually would.

Wanda had gone to bed by the time you’d returned, so you’d excused yourself from the others in the lobby and gone to do the same. You’d barely been gone a minute to get a drink, so you had no idea how Clint had managed to get into your room and make himself comfortable in that time.

He was still wearing his tee shirt, but you now noticed his shoes, jacket and jeans were in a pile on the floor by your feet. You felt a blush rise in your neck.

“Clint,” your voice dropped almost intimately despite yourself, and you cleared your throat self-consciously.

“Mmff.”

“…Dude.”

“Shh…” he grumbled petulantly, pulling the blankets tighter around himself. “’m sleeping.”

“Yeah, no shit, Barton. But why does it have to do it in _my_ bed?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “’s comfy.”

“I know it is. That’s kind of why I want it back,” you pointed out tiredly. When he didn’t reply, you shook your head in exasperation. “Clint, where am _I_ supposed to sleep?”

He mumbled something incoherent into the pillow, pulling back the covers and patting the mattress in front of him lazily. Your blush deepened, but his eyes thankfully remained closed. When you didn’t make any immediate move, he reached up to you blindly, groping at the air for a moment before his hand clumsily caught hold of your wrist.

“C’mon.”

“Uh…?”

He rolled onto his back, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes. The blankets had been tossed back far enough that you could see the bare skin of his thigh, tan against the black of his boxer briefs. Your gaze flickered to his bulge for a second before you caught yourself, meeting his eyes again. His fingers were still warm on your wrist, but there was sleepy, hopeful smirk curving one side of his mouth. “Promise to behave myself.”

A laugh caught in your throat, and you nodded. He broke into an almost punch-drunk smile, a dimple in one cheek, tugging on your wrist eagerly as you climbed onto the mattress beside him.

“Just for a little while, ‘kay?” you said as you laid down carefully beside him, your back to him, and pulled the blankets back up over the both of you. Your breath caught as his hand snaked over your waist, pulling you back against him. Your back met his chest; he was warm and firm against you. You hid a smile as you felt him press his forehead to your back, his calloused fingers spreading almost possessively over your stomach, his thumb brushing at the base of your sternum. “This is behaving?”

His voice was muffled against your shoulder blade, his breath tickling against the thin material of your shirt. “’s much as I can right now. But I’ve got some other ideas if you’re interested…”

Butterflies swirled low in your belly at his tone – and the feeling of him pressed against your backside – but you forced yourself to exhale slowly. He was so very drunk. You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his body against yours despite yourself as FRIDAY dimmed the lights to darkness.

“Sweet dreams, Hawkeye.”

*              *              *

“Another drink?”

You started slightly as you felt Clint’s hand on the small of your back, laughing as he caught you mid-sip. You wiped your chin with the back of your hand, shaking your head as you let yourself lean back into long enough to be heard over the music. His hand slipped around to touch your hip, his chest warm against your back. A bunch of the team had come out tonight for dinner and drinks, and your whole body buzzed pleasantly with the effects of the alcohol in your system. The way his weight settled against you, his breath warm on your shoulder and neck told you he’d probably had as much as you.

“Bruce already beat you to it,” you said, holding up your half-full glass. You and Natasha had decided to work your way through the house cocktail menu, and while the drink Bruce had bought you tasted only of peaches and a hint of raspberry, you were sure that Nat had convinced the bartender to add an extra shot of vodka. Where she’d disappeared to, you weren’t sure, but Bruce had been proving great company. “Sorry, hon.”

“Rude.” Clint pouted jokingly, his hand lingering on your hip for a moment before he pulled away, his fingers skimming over the skin under the hem of your shirt. You shivered despite the warmth of the bar. He sat on the stool behind you, waving down a bartender.

“Yes, it was incredibly rude of Bruce to buy me a drink purely out of the goodness of his own heart,” you eye-rolled teasingly, wiggling a finger at Bruce. “Shame on you.”

“I’m not sure how I’ll live with myself.” Bruce replied, a gentle smile curving his mouth. You leaned over to kiss his cheek, stumbling back into Clint as he hooked a hand around your waist and tugged you back into his side. You yelped, your back meeting his shoulder, drink spilling onto your hand.

“Clint!”

“Careful now, you don’t want to get the good doctor too excited, now do you?” Clint teased, winking at Bruce. The doctor rolled his eyes, ordering another soda – he didn’t drink much, particularly in public settings. You didn’t straighten from where you rested against Clint as he released his hold on you, but your breath caught slightly as you felt his fingertips graze the kin beneath the hem of your shirt as he did. “Now, who’s having a shot with me?”

As relaxed as Clint was now, you’d never seen him as sheepish as he was the morning after that night. You’d both woken late, and you’d withdrawn from his touch as soon as you’d remembered what was going on. He’d been bleary-eyed and confused as he woke, and his apologies had been adorably profuse. They’d first come muffled from under your pillow, his tee shirt riding up his back. Then again later, between eager mouthfuls of black coffee, pancakes and crispy bacon at the kitchen counter, curtesy of the live-in chef Tony had relocated from Stark Tower.

You’d waved them off with teasing quips and laughter, but he’d continued, up until it was time for you to meet Steve for a training session. He’d given you a tired smile and bumped his forehead against your shoulder as you’d leaned over him to steal a bite of his pancakes, and you’d left it at that.

Still, despite his assurances that it wouldn’t happen again, over the next few weeks it somehow became a habit for him to fall into your bed after a night out.

Some nights he’d beat you there, and you’d stumble into your room still tipsy to find him already in your bed, half asleep and half dressed. He’d pull you into the bed beside him with his eyes closed, groaning contentedly as you curled into his side. Other nights you’d feel him slide into the bed behind you, his fingertips grazing your throat as he pushed your hair away from your throat before settling down against you like he did that first night.

He’d always apologize, at least once… but as much as you’d never admit it, you looked forward to these nights with him, and you never slept better than when he was there.

“What are we, eighteen?” you scoffed, shaking your head. “I’m not doing shots with you, Barton.”

Clint chuckled, leaning forward slightly to speak in your ear. It wasn’t intimate enough for Bruce to raise an eyebrow, but then he couldn’t see Clint’s hand ghosting over the side of your thigh. The bare skin erupted in goosebumps where ever he touched, his fingers teasing the hem of your dress. “C’mon, Y/N. When have you ever been able to say ‘no’ to me?”

*              *              *

“Clint, honey, what’re you doing?” you asked, laughing.

You’d practically fallen into bed about twenty minutes ago, having left your clothes strewn haphazardly across your bedroom floor. Clint had convinced you to drink more than you should have, despite your protests, before Nat had tugged you away from him with an alluring grin to join her on the dancefloor.

You’d spent the rest of the night with her, laughing as she’d convinced Steve and Sam to join the two of you. It was almost three-thirty by the time Steve had urged you all outside and claimed the keys to one of the many luxury SUVs Tony had made available to the team from the valet.

You’d pulled on a pair of cotton shorts and an oversized tee shirt and flopped contentedly into bed, pulling the duvet up over you as FRIDAY automatically dimmed the lights to near-darkness for you. You’d barely made yourself comfortable before Clint had managed to find his way to your room, tripping over his own feet and cursing.

“Ooh, ‘honey’?” Clint teased with a wiggle of his fingers, swearing again where he tripped over his own jeans. You snickered as he did, sobering slightly as he moved to take off his shirt again. In all the nights he spent in your room, he’d never taken it off. It was like a unspoken, unintentional rule designed to keep things platonic between the two of you.

“Oh, bite me, Hunger Games,” you mumbled, wetting your lips. Clint taking off his shirt may just be the most erotic damn thing you’d ever seen. The way each muscle stretched and bunched and relaxed under his skin was like poetry in motion, settling in the very image of Adonis. There was a bruise on his ribs that tainted his skin with a blossom of dark purple; a shadow in the dim of the bedroom. You could barely make out the few scars that were scattered over his chest and stomach, memories of old battles.

You exhaled slowly as your face flushed, that same heat pooling low in your belly as he tossed it aside and gave you a lopsided grin. There was something so dangerous about Clint Barton standing there in nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs.

_Shit._

Clint chuckled as you rolled onto your side, turning your back to him in an attempt to loosen the knot in your stomach. It only tightened however as you felt the bed shift as he climbed in behind you. There was a brief rush of cool air as he lifted the blankets before the heat of his body found yours. The lights faded to darkness above you.

He was on his hands and knees as he leaned over you, and you gave a small, catching sigh as you felt his hand take a light hold of your hip. Your breath caught as he settled down behind you and pulled you back against him just as he had that first night. His thigh pressed between both of yours, and you felt a shiver dance through your bod as his hand slid up from your hip to the underside of your breast, taking the hem of your shirt up with it.

You could feel him pressing up against your backside; your pulse quickened at the firmness of it. His hand was bunching in the fabric of your shirt, his fingers warm against your skin. Your teeth found your bottom lip, eyes closed, as you felt his nose skim the corner of your jaw, his breath warm on the side of your neck.

“Clint…”

His lips touched just below your ear, a whisper on your skin, and your thighs clenched in response.

“Clint…”

He released his hold on your shirt, the side of his hand barely ghosting over your nipple before it found your chin. The brush sent a spark through you, and your body arched instinctively, as if to follow his hand. Clint groaned as your backside pressed against him, the sound low in your ear. He turned your face towards him gently, his lips travelling along your jaw.

“Y/N… _please…”_

You arched your neck back, bumping your nose against his gently. The stubble of his cheek scratched lightly at your skin as you did, and you could almost feel the curve of his smile. His lips almost touched yours – you could almost taste him, almost feel him, and his breath mingled with yours in the dark for a moment as your entire body tingled with his touch. “When have I ever been able to say ‘no’ to you, right?”

Clint chuckled, his voice husky and honey-sweet before he claimed your lips with his own. They were soft and eager, a confirmation of everything you’d imagined mixed with the ungraceful edge of alcohol. His fingers curled in your hair, his thumb stroking your temple. You whined into the kiss as his teeth caught on your bottom lip, slinging your hips back into his.

He groaned headily, taking hold of your hip. His fingers slipped under the elastic of your shorts, guiding you back against him as he ground into you. You could feel him harden against the cleft of your backside, your thighs tightening as you realized the length of him. “Fuck, baby…”

You rolled onto your back as Clint shifted to hover above you, straddling one of your thighs. You pulled his face to yours, crushing your lips to his desperately as he tugged your shirt up clumsily over your breasts. He palmed one in his hand, your nipple hardening under his touch. His thigh pressed against your center, and you raised your hips, a moan catching in your throat at the sensation.

His mouth moved along your jaw and down your neck, settling on your pulse point with a mixture of tongue and teeth. “You’re incredible.” Clint muttered as you pulled away long enough to toss your shirt to the floor. His lips returned to your body as soon as you lay back again, pressing a kiss to your sternum. “Every fucking inch of you.”

“You’re not… not so bad yourself, Hawkeye,” you murmured breathlessly as his fingertips grazed the sensitive skin of your waist. You whimpered as he rolled his tongue over your nipple, catching it lightly between his teeth. You could feel his smirk, and it faltered as you tugged at his hair.

“God, do that again,” he growled, his breath cool against the now-damp skin of your breast. Goosebumps danced down your arms at the sensation. You tightened your grip in his hair and he practically shuddered, cursing as he took hold of your hips and angled you up against his thigh.

“Jesus, Clint…”

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered, guiding your moments to roll your hips up against him. The thin material of your shorts did nothing to dull the sensation, and your hands slid up his biceps to grip at his shoulders. “God, the sounds you make…”

You moaned as Clint slipped a hand between your thighs, kissing you again as he pushed your shorts aside. You squeaked against his lips as his fingers found your clit, circling it with a steady, teasing rhythm. You wrapped an arm around his neck, your forehead pressed to his as you broke apart for air.

“God, I want to fuck you…” he told you, his voice broken with need. You could feel him, hard against your thigh, as if to prove his point. You peppered kisses along his jaw, catching his earlobe between your teeth. “It’s all I’ve been able to fucking think about.  The way you’d… _fuck,_ you’re wet.”

Your long, drawn-out moan was punctuated by an appreciative hum from Clint as he slowly slid two fingers inside you. You arch up into him as he withdraws them, and he chuckled, leaning back on his haunches and pushing your hips back down onto the mattress as he took up an achingly slow pace. Parting your legs further, you watched as Clint cocked his head to the side, eyes focused on his hand. His other palmed himself through his underwear, and you reached down to trace your fingertips over his thigh, if only to touch him again.

Clint’s eyes flickered back up to yours as you did, dark with need and want and something that made your stomach tighten wonderfully. A smile quirked at the side of his lips, affectionate and endearingly crooked, and you jerked as his thumb pressed to your clit.

He snickered at you, pleased with himself, and you managed to roll your eyes at him before they rolled back; his fingers curving inside you. Hooking your ankle around his hips, you urged him towards you, catching his shoulder as soon as he was in reach and kissed him again.

Reaching down with your other hand, you pushed his away from your sex, wrapping your legs around his waist. Taking it in stride, he trailed his hand almost clumsily up your side, fingertips tickling the underside of your breast. You hooked your fingers in his briefs, urging them down his hips. They caught on his erection, and Clint reached between the two of you to release it, a soft sigh of relief puffing against your cheek as he did.

It turned to a groan as you wrapped your hand around the base, his underwear still halfway down his thighs. Clint’s head fell to your shoulder, and he mumbled incoherently into your skin as you tightened your legs around him and guided him into position.

“ _Fuck…_ ” the two of you breathed together as he slowly thrust into you, his lips moving to your throat. You tangled fingers in his hair as his hips found their rhythm – each slow thrust a exaltation as his pelvic bone met your clit. He sucked a mark into the side of your neck, a hand catching the side of your face as you tried to wriggle away.

“Clint!” you admonished in a hushed, breathless voice. “Do you have… _fuck…_ any idea how hard that’s going to be to hide?”

He giggled as he found your lips again, nipping at your bottom lip before breaking away. “Just have to put ‘em where no one can see them, then.”

He kissed his way down the side of your throat again, and you squealed as he paused to blow a raspberry into the crook of your neck. You smacked his chest as he laughed, a grin on your face, reaching up to tug at his hair. The rhythm of his hips stuttered as you did, a moan catching in the back of his throat.

You did it again as he marked your ribs with another hickey, just below your breast, and he took hold of your hips in response, his fingers sliding under your shorts to grip at bare flesh. He raised your hips off the bed, pushing into you deeper with the new angle. Your moan was high-pitched and keening as he brushed against your g-spot, your hands moving to tease your breasts urgently, fingers clutching inelegantly, desperate for whatever more sensation you could get.

“C’mere,” Clint took hold of your hand, and you whimpered as he slipped out of you. He tugged you up onto your knees, leaning back until you were straddling his thighs. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you ran fingers through his hair. Clint’s lips found yours again, an urgent mix of tongue and the hint of teeth, as you sunk back onto him, and he took hold of your waist again, bouncing you steadily on his cock.

Your chest was pressed to his, nipples hard and aching, and he clutched at your back as you took over control, his lips finding your forehead, your cheeks, your jaw, and always back to your lips. Your whole body was damp with sweat and buzzing with electricity and all you could concentrate on was his touch, Clint’s strong hands and the way he filled you. There was a slight ache still, a testament to his girth, but you relished it, corkscrewing your hips over his.

“Clint,” you murmured as he brushed hair away from your sweat-sheened temple, your voice hoarse and yearning. Begging, even. His hands slipped down to rest on your ass, tugging the back of your shorts up to squeeze and spread the cheeks gently. Even with a light hold, he supported your weight like it was nothing – a quiet reminder of how Clint Barton was able to keep up with gods and super soldiers. “Jesus, _fuck,_ Clint. I’m—”

“It’s all you, babe,” he replied unevenly, his lips moving up to your ear. A shiver wracked your body as his tongue teased your earlobe, and you cursed as one hand moved around to tease your clit again. Everything inside you was tightening, your belly a coil begging to release. You could feel yourself beginning to crest, and you squeezed your thighs, tightening around him. “You just say the word.”

“You mean the magic one?” you laughed breathlessly, arching backwards and swiveling your hips. Clint swore, his hand sliding up from your backside to the small of your back in support, his fingertips tickling at your waist. He thrust into you eagerly, until you almost lost your balance. You grabbed at his forearms awkwardly, and Clint pulled you toward him easily, taking hold of your waist. His other hand tangled in your hair, bunching it around his fist as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“Stop teasing me,” he whispered, nose bumping against yours. “Please, baby…”

You grinned, kissing him. “Made you say it.”

Quickening your pace, you angled your hips, so your clit brushed against him with every thrust. The sound of flesh meeting flesh joined your voices, and you ran your hands up from his shoulders to take hold of his hair. You pulled hard just as you felt your orgasm hit, and Clint moaned obscenely, his hips bucking up against yours. He thrust hard enough to almost unseat you, and he pressed forward, pushing you back onto your back.

His pace was almost brutal, and you clung to him, one hand still in his hair and one digging nails into his bicep. Clint gripped at your thigh, hiking your leg up over his hip and you cried out as you felt a second orgasm follow your first.

Clint buried his face in your neck as he came, teeth scraping at your shoulder. Each touch he gave you sent a twitch through you as you both came down, his hips stuttering against yours before he slowly withdrew.

You shuddered as he did, your thighs slick with his come and yours. Clint rolled off of you slowly, running a hand over his face. “Fuck me.”

“I thought I just did,” you joked with shaky breath, sitting up and swinging your legs over the edge of the bed as he laughed.

“Where’re you going?”

You glanced back over your shoulder at him, giving him a soft smile. “Bathroom. I won’t be long.”

“Promise?” Clint asked, already pulling your duvet up over himself. You rolled your eyes, shaking your head in affectionate amusement. You rescued his shirt from the floor, pulling it on. He gave you a low whistle in response. Tucking hair behind your ear, you leaned over him, kissing his cheek.

“You know the drill, Barton. When have I ever been able to say ‘no’ to you?”


End file.
